


Brokenhearted

by SkyFireForever



Category: Original Work, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beating, Brain Damage, Domestic Violence, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Memory Loss, Multi, Transgender Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina, Transgender Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov, Transphobia, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 13:43:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20528984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyFireForever/pseuds/SkyFireForever
Summary: Helene was a slut. A whore. A despicable woman. Everyone was well aware of that fact. She was deserving of every misfortune that befell her. Of course, that didn’t make any of it any easier on her.An original-ish story based very much on the characters of War and Peace.





	Brokenhearted

**Author's Note:**

> Since the characters have different names in this work than in War and Peace, here are the characters' names and who they represent. 
> 
> Helene Reyes = Hélène Kuragina
> 
> Aaron Reyes = Anatole Kuragin
> 
> Jasper Reyes = Ippolit Kuragin 
> 
> Axel Reyes = Vassily Kuragin 
> 
> Alina Reyes = Alina Kuragina 
> 
> Marcello Bellomo = Pierre Bezukhov 
> 
> Vincent Lockwood = Fedya Dolokhov 
> 
> Milo Haddock = Andrei Bolkonsky 
> 
> Anastasia Orlov = Natasha Rostova 
> 
> Dmitri Orlov = Nikolai Rostov

Blood coated her hands, staining her dark skin red. There was blood upon her green and black dress, seeping into the fabric and thoroughly ruining it. She stared down at the cloth, distantly wondering if it would even be worth the attempt at washing it before chastising herself for thinking about her clothes at a time like this. Everything was falling apart around her and the only thing she could manage to focus on was the dirtying of her dress. She supposed that things had fallen apart for her long before this moment, but the ever present metallic scent of blood did nothing to convince her that her troubles hadn’t reached a tipping point. She’d had her fair share of hardships, more than her fair share, but this was the worst of it by far. She swallowed and thought back to how she had gotten here, about why this had happened and what she had done to deserve this. 

Helene Reyes was a beautiful young woman, of this, she was keenly aware. She flaunted it, used it to her advantage, revelled in it in every way possible. She enjoyed knowing that she was attractive and found no shame in it. Some might call her a slut for the way she acted, she knew many who talked about her that way both behind her back and to her face, but she had never much concerned herself with the opinions of sheep. Those who would call her a whore were beneath her in every way. Helene was used to being on top, used to being able to soar above everything and everyone who she didn’t wish to concern herself with. It was one of the perks of being born into wealth, class, and power. 

Of course, things weren’t always easy for her; in fact, they often weren’t. She’d fought tooth and nail to reach a point in her life where she could afford to flaunt herself in a way that pleased her. Even then, her actions were not without consequences. She was simply willing to pay the price that came for her brief moments of happiness, however brief they may be. And oh, how brief they often were. She had to claw for scraps of enjoyment, beg for moments of bliss, struggle for a modicum of joy in her life, but those moments of happiness made it all worth it. The time she spent out from under her husband’s wrathful eye, the moments when she got away, when she could dance and laugh freely, when she could find herself in another man’s arms or in the arms of her sibling; those were the times she lived for. They made all of her struggles worth the pain. 

Growing up, Helene had been taught to behave as only a “real man” could. She’d been taught not to cry, to bury her emotions, to answer any challenge against her with anger and violence. She’d kept the ideals taught to her from a young age long after her transition into a woman. After that, her lessons became those of what it meant to be a “real woman”. She learned how to hold herself, learned to never speak out of turn, learned to laugh at jokes that she didn’t find amusing. She was the perfect blend of the rules that men and women were forced to follow. She was perfectly sculpted out of marble, a picturesque piece of art designed to hang from her husband’s arm and do little else. She was a stunning portrait of beauty and grace, from the tips of her brown ringlets down to her perfectly painted toenails. 

Many men had fought for her hand in marriage, had begged on their knees for the opportunity to parade her off as their wife. They were long past the time where a wife could be declared her husband’s property, but a wife belonged to her husband in other ways and there were many reasons a man might want Helene as a wife. Her family’s wealth was a start, her family’s influential name and the power that name held. Then there was the matter of getting her into bed, not that marriage was ever a requirement for her to fall into bed with whatever man or woman she saw fit. Perhaps more than those possibilities, there was the possibility of one wanting to possess the unpossessable; the idea that a man wanted to tame the whore of the Reyes family. 

The man she ended up marrying didn’t want her for her family or her body or for her reputation. Helene had married for the one reason she had never in all her years even considered marrying for: Love. The man who became her husband had loved and treasured her, had treated her as if she were royalty. He had swept her off her feet in the most minimalistic of ways. He’d shown her basic kindness and respect, had treated her as a person rather than an accessory. He’d treated her as only her sibling had before. He’d made her feel emotions she’d never considered herself capable of. Their short-lived romance, followed by their engagement and subsequent marriage, held some of the best moments of her life. Those days were filled with love and a freedom she’d never experienced before.

Of course, those times weren’t meant to last. Any love her husband had held for her had withered and died long ago, replaced by contempt and loathing. The fond memories of the times spent together had spoiled and turned sour in her mind, polluting what would have been a joyous time in her life. Her husband was no longer a kind and gentle man; at least, not to her. Helene knew many who would say otherwise, who saw her husband as nothing but a good, if awkward man. Most were unaware of the cruelty he could possess, were blind to his anger and the way he lashed out when that rage was ignited. All they saw was the bumbling idiot who blustered his way through social interactions, who spoke too loudly at inopportune times, who was sluggish and slow in his movements, who was plump and sad. All anyone saw was the sad old man with a wife who refused to share his bed any longer, whose wife disgraced him by being unsubtle with her adultery, who lived such a sad and pitiful life. That was all anyone saw. They saw Helene as the villain, the monstrous and uncaring bitch with no heart or soul. Perhaps they were right in their judgement of her. 

She’d never been quiet when it came to her less than appropriate actions. She’d never hidden her lovers from her husband or anyone else, had never disguised her face before going out to the club, hadn’t even dispelled the rumors circulating about her and her relationships. She saw no point in hiding the truth from the public, found no shame in enjoying herself. She was who she was and there was nobody in the world who could change her. Only a fool would dare to try. Unfortunately, Helene had known many fools in her life. Fools and idiots made up most of society, the trick was to learn how to manipulate or ignore them. 

Helene had grown accustomed to doing both. She’d learned to play people against one another, learned how to flatter, charm, and flirt. She’d learned who was to be paid attention to and who was to be quietly looked over. She’d learned much simply by watching for new rules of society and following them. Socialization was a game and she was determined to win. 

But playing games couldn’t save her from what happened; it hadn’t been able to save anyone. As she stared down at her bloodstained hands, her breath caught in her throat and she wondered what she might have none to prevent this from happening. How could things have changed if just one thing went differently?


End file.
